


Paradise

by anglophileadventures



Series: Fractures and Fragments [5]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Minho is in love with Newt but Newt is in love with Thomas, Newt doesn't know Minho is in love with him, Unrequited Love, book!verse, it's fucking depressing is what i'm getting at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-11-26 10:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20928365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anglophileadventures/pseuds/anglophileadventures
Summary: “Minho stared at Thomas, his eyes filled with pain. It hit Thomas that Minho had known Newt for two years longer than he had. So much more time to grow close.” (TDC)Minho can handle just about anything, except losing his best friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the playlist "to grow close" which can be found on [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1Xc4QpmN9bPe4kzy6OSKlv?si=U6sw3AaVTNK4CMIqbktDqA) and was created by the lovely [ileavetheroomsmiling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ileavetheroomsmiling/pseuds/ileavetheroomsmiling), also found on tumblr at [@keeperoftherunnerrs](https://keeperoftherunnerrs.tumblr.com). Playlist title comes from the quote in the summary.

As soon as Janson reads Newt’s name, Thomas crumples to the floor like he’s been punched in the gut. Minho doubts he even heard the rest of the names read. Minho doesn’t know any of the girls from group B, but he knows Jackson and Lee from his own group. Jackson was one of the original Gladers, with him and Newt and Alby and all of the others who were sent up first; Lee was one of his Runners. He knows he should be more upset for them than he is, but he just can’t manage it - so few of the original Gladers are left anyway, he’s used to grieving for them, and he’s lost so many Runners over the years they ran the Maze, Lee is just one more Runner he failed to save. Yet another reminder of how pathetic a Keeper he was. And anyway, neither of them are Newt.

Unlike Thomas, Minho keeps his feet, but he feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Newt, as usual, goes right to Thomas. Minho can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but it seems like Newt is trying to comfort Thomas, and isn’t that just typical.

And then, surprisingly quickly, Minho recovers. And as usual, he’s angry. At Thomas, for being such a drama queen when Newt is the one who’s just been given a death sentence; at Newt, for being so goddamn selfless and attempting to comfort Thomas anyway; but most of all, at WICKED for doing this to them.

Janson is still talking, and Minho thinks about how good it would feel to punch him right in his smug face. He’s reassuring them that a cure will be found, and everything they’ve been through will have been worth it.

“And what if you don’t figure things out?” Minho challenges him. Newt shoots him a look, and Minho shrugs a non-apology. He’s never been one for keeping his mouth shut, even when it’s in his best interest; the Rat Man ignores him anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

If he’s being honest with himself, Minho doesn’t really believe it. Newt looks hale and healthy, standing in front of him now, as healthy as anyone can look after what they’ve been through, the last few days of recovery notwithstanding. The fact that Newt is dying, could be dead in a few weeks or even days, simply doesn’t compute. And he doesn’t want to think about what it would mean for him, to go on living without Newt, so he doesn’t. He pretends it isn’t happening. Besides, they’ll be able to think of a way out of it. Thomas always has some clever trick up his sleeve, even if he only manages to pull it out at the last second. Minho is sure he’ll think of a way to save Newt.

For now, he’s had about all he can stand of WICKED and their manipulation and deceit. He talks it over quietly with Thomas and Newt, and they agree: they’re not letting WICKED into their heads any more, they’re not doing the reverse Swipe, and they’re getting out of here as soon as they can. Minho feels better now that they’ve decided on a course of action - now they can start making an actual plan.

But they miss their chance, and before they’ve so much as tackled a guard, Janson has them locked up in a special room, separate from all the others who decided to get the reverse Swipe procedure done like good little boys and girls. Minho is so tired of sitting and waiting for the “right” opportunity - he wants to jump into action, plan as he goes, adapt and survive. All this sitting around and waiting is making him antsy.

It’s not the only thing making him uncomfortable. Minho can tell there’s something slightly… off about Newt. It’s nothing huge, probably nothing anyone who didn’t know him fairly well would notice, but it’s definitely there. Minho can’t put his finger on exactly what it is, whether it’s that Newt is more easily irritated or has a shorter fuse or simply won’t talk to Minho about what’s bothering him, but the unnameable something sits between them, separating them as surely as this glorified cell they’re in separates them from the outside world. Whenever Minho tries to talk to Newt as he normally does, to settle back into their familiar roles, throw their mildly insulting jokes back and forth, it just doesn’t quite fit like it used to. It’s as if they’re two puzzle pieces that he knows should fit together, but one of them got rotated without him realizing and so now he’s trying to jam the non-fitting edges together even though they clearly won’t go.

Everything he says feels wrong. Newt doesn’t respond to his lead-ins, and doesn’t leave any of his own for Minho to pick up. Every interaction is awkward and uncomfortable, made more so by the fact that Minho can so clearly remember when their interactions were the exact opposite.

They finally manage to get out from under Janson’s thumb at least, with the help of Brenda, and Minho is starting to think that maybe she isn’t so bad. If only Thomas would stop trying to fall in love with her, Minho would probably get along with her just great. Minho wouldn’t mind ordinarily, but a) his best friend (who’s dying, by the way, Thomas, remember that? Remember him?) is almost definitely in love with Thomas, and if Thomas does anything to hurt Newt Minho will have to kill him which would be a shame because he’s grown rather attached to Thomas himself, and b) timing is everything, Thomas, and right now they are trying to escape with their lives so if you could maybe keep it in your pants for five minutes, that would be greatly appreciated.

They get out from under Janson’s thumb but they’re still trapped in the WICKED compound, and they’re trying to get to Jorge and the berg so they can get out, but things start going wrong almost immediately and there’s guards and alarms and people firing at them - just once, Minho thinks, he’d like to execute one of Thomas’ “plans” without anything going catastrophically wrong, would that be too much to ask? Just once, that’s all.

They take refuge in the weapons room and Minho just wants to keep moving, get out of there, get to the berg and start flying as far away as they can in any direction they choose, but the others keep talking about missing weapons. _Who the fuck cares?_ Minho wonders. _Why does it matter? The guards have weapons, what else is new?_ Then he inadvertently offends Newt and Newt actually snaps at him, _Newt never snaps at him,_ and he doesn’t know what he did wrong because Newt goes off in a huff instead of just fucking _telling_ him how he fucked up like he normally would, and how does that help anyone? _Why won’t you just fucking TALK TO ME, like a NORMAL PERSON,_ Minho wants to scream at him, but he knows that wouldn’t help either so he bites his tongue, but apparently not hard enough because -

“Next time just explain yourself instead of getting all snippy.”

Minho knows he shouldn’t have said that, knows he’s lashing out at Newt because he’s scared and Newt is probably lashing out and acting weird in the first place because _he’s_ scared, and they should be working together instead of squabbling amongst themselves but he can’t help it. Before he knows it the words just slip out. Maybe now would be a good time to crack a little joke and lighten the tension.

“I didn’t think you’d lose it so fast, but glad you’re back. We might need a Crank to sniff out these other Cranks if they really broke in.” Minho knows as soon as he says it that it’s a terrible joke, not funny in the least, but he’s hoping Newt will go easy on him and understand what he’s trying to do. It’s just the sort of morbid humor Newt would have appreciated before, so even though it’s a rather weak attempt, Minho hopes Newt will still accept it as the peace offering that it is.

No such luck. Newt is Mad with a capital M, his face screwing up and tightening and when he opens his mouth, Minho knows something poisonous is about to be hurled out at him.

“You never have known when to shut your hole, have you, Minho? Always gotta have the bloody last word.”

_Fuck you,_ Minho thinks furiously. _Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. That was a joke and you know it. You’re being a dick on purpose because you won’t just talk to me like a NORMAL FUCKING PERSON._ “Shut your shuck face,” Minho says to Newt. He’s surprised by how calm his voice is, but he knows and everyone else knows that it’s a false calm, belying the rage underneath.

Thomas is looking back and forth between the two of them like a kid caught in the middle of his parents’ argument. Newt takes a step towards Minho and for the briefest fraction of a second Minho thinks he’s about to apologize, or hug him, or do _anything_ to break this weird tension between them.

Instead he punches Minho in the face.

Minho almost laughs. At last, something to do. Not exactly something productive, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Minho jumps up and tackles Newt, knocking him to the ground, and they scuffle on the floor. Minho isn’t trying to hurt Newt, not really, and he can tell Newt is pulling his punches too, but it’s still a wild, frenetic fight, both of them letting out the pent-up frustration meant for WICKED. Minho knows this is a waste of time and misplaced energy, that they should be trying to escape instead of fighting each other, but something happens to him when he gets really angry, he just goes a bit stupid and forgets about things like priorities or rationality or personal safety.

Finally Thomas and Brenda manage to drag the two of them apart, and Thomas yells at them. Minho’s still angry, but he’s also starting to feel ashamed of himself. Newt has the Flare making him act irrational and short-tempered; what’s Minho’s excuse?

Newt stomps off again to pout and Thomas goes after him. Minho and Brenda gather supplies in silence, Minho’s mind whirring. He’s forced to face the truth: Newt is deteriorating quickly. A few days ago, when Janson had told them Newt wasn’t immune and was most likely infected with the Flare already, Minho hadn’t really believed him. But there’s no other way to explain all these changes in his best friend’s behavior. Newt must have the Flare, and he’s going downhill faster than Minho would have ever believed.

Which meant Newt was dying.

Minho hates that thought. He wants to reject it, throw it out of his head entirely, but even if he could it wouldn’t stop it from being the truth. Their only hope now is to get away as soon as they can and hope that they can figure out some way of helping Newt later.

Minho doesn’t dare to think about the possibility that they might be unable to find Newt any help.

Thomas returns, without Newt. Minho tries to gauge how Thomas feels about Newt’s condition by saying, “Who knows what that guy is up to. He’s never acted like this before. Flare’s eating his brain already.” He watches Thomas to see how he’ll react. Thomas hasn’t known Newt as long, but surely he must be worried about him too, after that display?

“He said he’d be back soon,” Thomas says shortly. He seems irritated with Minho, and honestly Minho doesn’t blame him. He’s a bit irritated with himself, too. “And watch what you say around him. The last thing we need is you setting him off again.”

Minho is a little hurt, but he has to admit Thomas is right. He hasn’t really been helping the situation. Minho resolves to be more patient with Newt, not to take the bait the next time he lashes out. Thomas seems just as worried about Newt as he is, which is in some ways comforting but in other ways terrifying. It confirms that Minho is right to be worried, that he has good reason to be, and that makes a ball of tightly-wound fear settle in the pit of Minho’s stomach.

While they’re gathering supplies, Brenda and Thomas continue talking about how the Flare works. Minho thinks it all sounds like a load of horseshit, personally, but hey, what does he know. Brenda mentions something called the Bliss and Thomas is horrified, but Minho thinks he wouldn’t mind caring a little less. It’s the caring so much that makes him keep saying stupid things that set Newt off even more.

Newt comes back, and he wants to talk to Thomas. Just Thomas, he says. It’ll only take a second.

“What’s this crap?” Minho asks. There goes his resolve to be more patient with Newt; that lasted approximately 0.3 seconds. Minho sighs internally.

“Just cut me some slack. I need to give something to Tommy here. Tommy and no one else.”

_Tommy,_ Minho wants to scoff. _Of course you can only give it to precious Tommy._ Minho tries not to imagine what it might be. A letter confessing his love, probably. Nevermind that Minho has been there with Newt since day one. He can only give his mysterious gift to _Tommy_.

Minho immediately feels guilty. Again. Newt is dying and all he can do is sulk because Newt prefers Thomas over him.

“Whatever, go for it,” MInho finally answers, adjusting the straps of his Launcher so he doesn’t have to look Newt in the eye. “But we need to hurry.”

Thomas goes with Newt out into the hallway, and Minho is left behind to stew in his guilt and try not to think about what they’re talking about. It hurts, as much as he wishes it doesn’t, that Newt will talk to Thomas and not him. Minho has been Newt’s best friend for years, and they’ve barely known Thomas a few months. He wonders if he did something wrong and Newt doesn’t trust him anymore, or if it’s just because Newt is in love with Thomas. He knows he has no right to be jealous of that, but still… it hurts. He wishes Newt would just _talk_ to him.

He’s never been very good at this. Newt was the one who was good at all the feelings talk. Now that he’s clammed up Minho hardly knows where to begin. He supposes he can’t really blame Newt for not wanting to talk just yet; he’s still processing, after all. _He’ll talk when he’s ready,_ Minho reassures himself. _He always does._

Newt is the strongest person Minho knows, and to see him brought low by this disease so quickly is terrifying. Minho was always the one Newt came to for help before, in the Glade, so it’s even more worrying now that he’s shutting Minho out.

Minho doesn’t know what to do with this surly, angry Newt who snaps at him and insults him and doesn’t appreciate his sarcasm. He wants the old Newt back, with his quick wit and easy laugh, even when he was hiding so much pain behind those dark eyes. He wants his best friend back.

Minho decides, right then and there, that after they escape and take care of whatever other hairbrained schemes Thomas is probably cooking up, he’ll figure out whatever it is he needs to do to save Newt, and he won’t stop until it’s done. Even if he has to burn down the whole world to do it.


	2. Chapter 2

In all the chaos of their escape, the running and shooting and dodging being shot at, Minho doesn’t really have the extra brain space to think about anything. But once they’re on the berg and on their way, everyone more or less in one piece, although in varying states of consciousness, he finally has a moment to catch his breath. The unexpected peace, this small pocket of quietness, takes him by surprise, but it’s certainly not unwelcome. Since Thomas has already passed out from the launcher shot, they lay him on a cot in the cargo hold and then, exhausted, settle down to sleep themselves.

Minho watches Newt carefully as they find blankets and make themselves comfortable on a pair of couches that they’ve pushed together. Newt seems to be mostly back to his old self, for the moment at least, and Minho allows the relief of that thought to wash over him. He could almost believe they’re back in the Glade, sharing a tiny cot with a lumpy, uncomfortable mattress because there weren’t enough to go around and even sleeping on that cramped, narrow space jammed up against someone else was better than sleeping on the floor. Minho watches Newt draw the blanket up to his chin, and with a half-smile, Minho starts to tuck the blanket in by Newt’s sides, all down his body. Newt frowns up at him wordlessly, but his eyes look amused rather than angry or annoyed, and he looks so much like the Newt Minho remembers that for a second it takes his breath away.

Minho lays down next to him, and tucks his own blanket up under his chin, matching Newt. He turns on his side, and Newt turns too so they’re facing each other, faces only inches apart. Minho doesn’t think he’s been this physically close to anyone since… well, probably since the Scorch, sleeping in a big, awkward pile of limbs with what remained of the boys he was supposed to be leading to safety... and before that, the Glade.

“I’m sorry,” Minho says, so quietly he almost can’t hear his own voice. “For saying all that stupid stuff. And for fighting with you. I just want to help you, but I don’t know how and instead I made everything worse.”

Newt blinks at him for a second, his face unreadable. Then he sighs. “I’m sorry too,” he says, casting his eyes down. Minho thinks there might be tears in them.

Minho’s heart wrenches, and he just can’t stand to leave Newt like that. He shifts, freeing one arm from under the blanket and reaching out to brush Newt’s cheek. Newt flinches at first, but then relaxes, squeezing his eyes closed and turning his face into Minho’s hand.

Minho clears his throat to try and dislodge the painful lump rising there. “I’m not gonna let this happen,” he whispers, half to himself, half to Newt. “We’re gonna find a way to fix this, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The pain in Newt’s eyes makes Minho feel like crying himself. “You can’t fix this one, Min,” he says, and his voice is so broken it sounds like jagged shards piercing Minho’s skin. “I’m gonna die, and there’s nothing you can do. No way to stop it.” Minho refuses to believe that, but he doesn’t want to start another argument when they’ve finally started actually talking to each other again.

“And you know what the worst part is?” Newt continues suddenly after several seconds of quiet. “The worst part is knowing, the whole time, that I’m hurting you and Thomas.”

Minho shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter,” he says. “We know it’s not – it’s not your choice. We know it’s not really you.”

“Of course it matters,” Newt answers bitterly. “I don’t want you to remember me that way.”

Minho doesn’t have an answer to this, so he lays there silently, blinking back his own tears as he watches Newt and strokes his thumb under Newt’s eye to brush away the droplets leaking there.

Newt sucks in a deep, ragged breath. “I can’t believe – ” he starts, but then has to pause. His whole body seems to hunch, curling in on itself, and Minho imagines him wracked with pain and terror. He wishes he could do something, anything, to comfort him, but he’s helpless to stop it.

Newt tries again. “I just can’t believe I spent all that time fighting my own mind, trying to find the will to live, and now… now I’m…” he blinks rapidly, crying in earnest now. “I’m going to die anyway,” he finishes finally, still in that broken voice that hurts Minho’s very soul.

Minho feels the wetness on his eyelashes and knows he’s lost the battle to keep his emotions contained. “It’s not too late,” he tells Newt resolutely. “Thomas will come up with something. He always does, right?”

Newt won’t meet Minho’s eye. “Maybe,” he mutters.

Minho reaches out with his other hand and pulls Newt into a suffocating embrace, holding him as close as he can while Newt sobs into his shoulder. Eventually Newt exhausts himself, and seems to settle into an uneasy sleep. Minho tucks him back in under the blanket and tries to get some rest himself, but it takes several fruitless hours of staring up at the ceiling before he finally manages to drift off.

When he wakes up, he can hear Thomas and Brenda talking, which means they must both have recovered from their launcher blasts, which is good. He glances over to Newt and sees him still quietly sleeping, his face for once looking peaceful and untroubled. Minho brushes a strand of hair back from Newt’s face, watching his chest slowly rise and fall and feeling the hope returning to him. _There has to be something we can do._

Minho doesn’t tune into Thomas and Brenda’s conversation until he hears his own name, and Newt’s, spoken out of Thomas’ mouth: “..what Newt and Minho think when they wake up.”

With a chill of dread that Minho doesn’t quite understand why he’s feeling or where it came from, Minho wonders what Thomas and Brenda have been planning while he and Newt were sleeping. He’s still lying down, but he shifts so that he can see where Thomas and Brenda are.

“Sounds good,” Brenda is saying, and then Minho watches her stand up, go over to Thomas, and kiss him on the cheek. “You know, most of what happened in those tunnels was _not_ an act,” she continues. _What the fuck happened in the tunnels?_ Minho wonders incredulously. While he and Newt had been worried half out of their minds, hoping Thomas had survived the cave-in, had Thomas and Brenda been having a grand old time, cosying up to each other in the tunnels underneath the city? Minho watches as Brenda walks away, and after she’s gone Thomas blushes and smiles like a dopey idiot.

Minho feels a cold rage stealing over him, and part of him hates Thomas, and Brenda too. Thomas has the good luck to have the best person in the entire world be in love with him, and what does he do? Waste his time with random girls he picked up in the desert while said best person in the entire world is dying from an insane virus. _Who the fuck even is Brenda anyway? How do we know she’s not still working for WICKED?_ Minho had decided to trust her after she helped them escape, but now he wonders if that trust was premature. She could be lying to them again, like she did in the Scorch, leading them wherever WICKED wanted them to go.

Minho pretends to be asleep until Thomas comes to wake him and Newt up, and then they have a Gathering about where to go next. Minho doesn’t want to go to Denver, he wants to get as far away as humanly possible from WICKED and anyone else who might try to capture or hurt them, and he argues with Thomas and Brenda for the better part of an hour, glaring at Brenda almost the whole time. He knows the Thomas thing at least isn’t really her fault, but he’s still not sure if he trusts her, and she’s the one advocating that they go to this city which sounds to Minho like it could be one giant trap. Besides, it’s harder for Minho to be mad at Thomas when he also needs Thomas to come up with some clever idea to save Newt (that is, it’s harder, but Minho’s having a good go at it anyway).

Actually, there’s more to it than that, Minho knows, because he really does trust Thomas despite everything, and he trusts his judgement (most of the time anyway). They’ve been through a lot together, and yeah Thomas can be a Grade A Dumbass sometimes, but he can also be really smart and perceptive. And Thomas trusts Brenda, that much is clear. But Minho still feels like Brenda is a stranger to him, and he has no idea why Thomas is so sure she’s on their side. The sneaking suspicion that Thomas only trusts her because he has a crush on her occurs to him more than once, and as much as he hates it, he has to give it due consideration.

But then, there’s also the possibility that Minho is the biased one instead of Thomas, because he knows how Newt feels about Thomas and hates to think how Newt might feel if Thomas ends up getting with Brenda. Newt may not be too concerned with that at the moment, considering everything else he has to worry about, but Minho thinks that if Newt _is_ going to... if he’s... if he doesn’t have many days left, Minho doesn’t want him to spend the last of them heartbroken. Thomas may or may not love Newt the way that Newt loves him, but Minho knows he cares about Newt a lot, and he has to know how Newt feels, it couldn’t be more obvious, so the least he can do is let Newt down gently. _(And if he does feel the same way about Newt,_ Minho thinks furiously, _he better stop going around flirting with every girl he meets, because Newt deserves better than that.)_

In the end he agrees to the Denver plan, giving in to his trust in Thomas and allowing himself to hope that they might be able to find some way of helping Newt there. He doesn’t really believe it – if there was some kind of cure or treatment in Denver, wouldn’t they have shared it with everyone? – but it’s one tiny spark of hope to cling to in an ocean of darkness, so cling to it he does. Besides, he would quite like to take out whatever bullshit device WICKED put into his head so they can’t control or track him anymore.

But when it finally comes to it, Minho hates everything about this plan. He hates that they’re entering the city at all, hates that they’re leaving Newt behind alone, hates that Newt seems to have already gone back to that surly, irritated version of himself who snaps at the tiniest things, hates that they’re putting so much trust in Brenda and Jorge, who they really don’t know jackshit about and who could easily betray them at any time, just because Thomas has apparently decided to use Brenda as his rebound after Teresa.

Through everything – going through the security checkpoint to enter the city, the unexpected meeting with Gally, finding Hans, Thomas getting hijacked by WICKED, finally getting the devices deactivated – Minho is only half there, because the other half is back with Newt on the berg, wondering if he’s okay, if he’s lonely, if he’s started to despair or Crank out or any number of horrible things that Minho’s imagination dredges up for him to worry about. He hates that they’ve been gone for so long; he had hoped it would only be a day, two at most, but everything seems to drag out longer than he expected.

Even after they finally recover from their surgeries enough that Minho thinks they’ll finally be able to go back – _it’s been ages and ages, Newt must think we abandoned him, god I hope he’s alright_ – Thomas still wants to stay, wants to meet back up with Gally and join the Left Leg or whatever-the-fuck stupid-ass organization it is this time. Minho feels like screaming at him, but instead he suggests getting something to eat first, thinking that while they’re eating he can persuade Thomas that they need to go back to the berg and at least check on Newt before they do anything else.

But first they’re eating, and Minho didn’t realize how hungry he was until his first mouthful of food – his stomach was empty for the surgery, and he hasn’t eaten anything since waking up. No one is talking anyway, so there’s no good opening to bring up Newt, and Minho tells himself he’ll have his chance when they discuss what to do next.

But as they’re getting ready to leave, Brenda asks to talk to Thomas alone. Minho almost rolls his eyes, and he does complain, but he goes to stand outside with Jorge while Thomas and Brenda talk. Minho wonders what she needs to tell him that’s such a goddamn secret; Thomas had promised he would tell Minho what she said, but the more suspicious part of Minho’s mind whispers to him that Thomas told Minho to leave so he could only tell Minho the parts of Brenda’s message that he wanted Minho to know, and keep the rest to himself. He wonders if her oh-so-secret, oh-so-important message has anything to do with “what happened in those tunnels”.

Then suddenly everything goes tits up – there’s a man in the cafe clearly infected with the Flare, those red-shirted guards come in guns blazing to take him into custody, and there’s pandemonium as people trample each other trying to get out. Brenda, who seemed to realize what was about to go down just in time, makes it out the door before it gets blocked by the panicked masses, but Thomas is still inside.

Brenda pounds on the window, trying to get Thomas’ attention. Thomas seems frozen in shock, watching the infected man be tackled to the ground and restrained. Minho feels sick to his stomach, imagining Newt as the infected man, and he wishes Thomas would snap out of it and leg it already. Instead, Thomas actually engages with one of the guards. Minho can see him talking to them and he groans to himself. _What the fuck are you doing, Thomas? Just get out of there. Let’s GO._

Then the guard pulls a gun on Thomas, and Thomas sits down, looking scared. _Great. Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse._ As soon as the doorway clears of panicked people evacuating, Minho goes to re-enter the cafe, but before he can step inside the guard turns his gun on Minho.

“Stop right there! Get out!”

“But we’re with him, and we need to go,” Minho says, pointing to Thomas and praying this somehow works out. He doesn’t know why the guard seems to be keeping Thomas there, but he can bet it’s not anything good.

“This one’s not going anywhere,” the guard says, voice firm. _He’s probably like one of those prison guards who gets off on humiliating and abusing the inmates,_ Minho thinks. He feels sick again, and he wishes he could just grab Thomas and get out of there.

The guard is looking back and forth between Thomas and Minho. “Wait a second,” he says. “Are you guys Munies, too?”

In a split second, the situation becomes clear to Minho. Thomas must have let slip that he was immune, and this guy, who seems like exactly the sort of person who should never be allowed to have any sort of power over anyone, has captured him and is probably planning to sell him to WICKED or the black market or god knows where else. If Minho stays, he will most likely be captured too; their best chance is for the three of them to get away now and regroup to try and rescue Thomas later.

He turns and runs away, sprinting as fast as he can. He hears people shouting after him, but he doesn’t look back or slow down. He can hear the footfalls of Brenda and Jorge slapping on the pavement just behind him, so he knows they both got away too. Minho spares a brief thought to hope Thomas will be okay on his own _(who are you kidding, it’s Thomas, he’ll probably wriggle out in under five minutes and be happily jogging along to meet up with you in no time)_ before he puts on another burst of speed and rounds a corner, ducking down an alleyway and popping out on another street, weaving through people and obstacles without really seeing them.

It feels good to be running again, despite everything, and for a moment he imagines he’s back in the Maze, weaving his way through the labyrinthine passages, ready to dodge out of sight if he sees a Griever around the next corner. Shuck, he was miserable back then, but at least things were simpler. No Flare, no ridiculous, over-powered government authority figures chasing them, just him and his friends, trying to escape. Trying to survive. He used to think nothing could be worse than being trapped in there, but now… now his best friend is dying, and his other best friend is a terminal dumbass.

He gradually slows to a stop, and waits for Brenda and Jorge to catch up with him. When they do, panting and wheezing, they agree in only a few short sentences to double back and try to find Thomas again. Minho is glad, not least because it means he doesn’t have to talk to them longer than necessary. He supposes he has no reason not to trust them now – if they were going to betray him and Thomas, surely they would have done so already – but he still doesn’t have to like them.

They finally find Thomas, and Minho is relieved to see him alive and unharmed. But then he sees the red-shirted guard lying at his feet, bullet holes torn through him, and he feels a cold sense of foreboding. _Did Thomas do that?_ Suddenly he feels like he doesn’t know Thomas at all.

“Holy…” he trails off, struggling to find words. “What happened to him?” he finally stutters. He looks up at Thomas. “And you? You okay? Did you do that?”

Thomas gives him a funny look. “Yeah, I pulled out my machine gun and blasted him to tiny bits.” His tone sounds sarcastic, but for some reason it gives Minho chills.

Brenda asks who killed him, and Thomas tells them about the cop machine and Janson showing up on the screen, trying to convince him to come back. Minho interrupts to tell Thomas he can’t even think about going back, but Thomas cuts him off, and then he says --

“What we should worry about is Newt. Janson thinks Newt’s succumbing to the Flare a lot faster than average. We have to go check on him.”

Minho’s heart plummets down to his feet. “He really said that?”

“Yeah. And I believe him on this.” Thomas looks sad when he answers. Minho believes him too. “You saw how Newt’s been acting.”

That’s true enough. Minho thinks about the boy he knew, the boy who was his best friend, the boy he practically grew up with, because in the Glade they had to grow up so fast, and he compares that boy with the one they left on the berg a few days ago. He’s unrecognizable.

Thomas says something else, something about checking on Newt again, and Minho nods, but he isn’t really listening.

_Now you want to go check on Newt,_ he thinks bitterly, and he’s surprised by the anger he feels toward Thomas. He tries to remind himself that it’s not really Thomas’ fault, but then he thinks about Thomas sitting in a cafe drinking coffee and planning his stupid rebellion, and all the while Newt was alone and dying. It was like as soon as Newt was out of his sight, Thomas forgot about him, until Janson of all people reminded him. And suddenly he was all innocent concern, _“oh I hope Newt’s all right, I hope nothing’s happened to him,”_ but they could have been back to the berg by now if Thomas hadn’t taken it into his head to join the fucking revolution.

_You could have said something,_ a voice in the back of his head reminds him. _You could have insisted we all go back as soon as the operations were finished._ But even as he thinks it, he knows it might not have done any good anyway. Thomas is the Real Leader. Thomas decides where they go and what they do. That’s just how it is. Minho has never really resented it until now.

They finally start walking, heading for where they left the berg, but it’s on the other side of the city and Brenda doesn’t think they’ll make it before curfew. Minho doesn’t care and wants to keep going anyway; he’s sure they can sneak out of the city if they want to, but he gives in because he knows he’ll never be able to convince the others. He’ll just have to hope Newt can make it on his own one more night.

Minho feels strange, almost outside himself. He’s full of restless energy and keeps doing and saying things that are just a little bit stupid, just a little bit not his usual self. They hear a noise down an alley that’s probably a Crank and Minho calls out a challenge to it, instead of getting inside the motel where it’s safe. Thomas tells him to stop, and that just makes Minho irritated, so he calls out again. There’s a part of him that’s itching to start a fight, just to have something to do, someone on whom to take out his anxiety over Newt.

But then he thinks about what Newt would want, and he knows it’s not to get himself injured in some stupid fight with a half-crazed cannibal, and anyway it wouldn’t help Newt at all, so he reins in his defiance and anger at how useless he feels and lets himself be led into the motel like a good little boy.

_This fucking sucks,_ Minho thinks to himself. He’s way too worried to sleep anyway. He might as well be out trying to sneak past the guards and get to Newt, since he’s not getting any rest. Brenda and Jorge fall asleep almost immediately, but Minho hears Thomas tossing and turning long into the night, and perversely it makes him feel better that at least Thomas is as worried as he is. Thomas falls quiet sometime after midnight, but Minho remains awake and anxious until the first rays of dawn pierce the night sky and turn it pale. He sleeps for maybe an hour, around six in the morning, but he’s up and about by seven, antsy and urging the others to move faster. Despite the lack of sleep, he feels wired, ready to take on the world if it means keeping Newt safe.

He debated all night whether or not to tell Thomas about the Incident, but in the end he decided it wasn’t his secret to tell. It’s not like it would make a difference at this point. Thomas has already resolved to get to Newt as quickly as possible, so telling him would only worry him unnecessarily and wouldn’t help them get to Newt any sooner. And anyway, if Newt had wanted Thomas to know, he would have told Thomas himself.

All the same, the knowledge of the Incident burns inside him, and Minho is terrified that Newt will try again, or that he’s already tried again, and they could very well be returning to find his body.

As they walk, Minho sidles up to Thomas and whispers, “I’m a little shucked in the head right now. I’m scared of what we’re gonna find with Newt.”

But Thomas doesn’t know about the Incident, and he thinks Minho is talking about the Flare. “Don’t worry,” Thomas assures him, “I’m sure he’s fine for now.”

“Good that. And the cure for the Flare’s gonna fly out of your butt any second.”

“Who knows, maybe it will. Might smell funny, though.”

Minho has to fight the urge to punch Thomas in the face. They should never have left Newt alone for so long. Minho can’t help fearing the worst.

“Look,” Thomas continues, “we can’t do anything until we get there and see him.” He sounds irritatingly calm and soothing. It makes Minho want to scream.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” he says, trying to lace his words with all the contempt he feels.

Thomas doesn’t reply, and Minho is grateful.

On the way out of the city, they see a Crank eating something that looks horribly like another dead person, and Minho knows they’re all thinking that Newt could be as bad as him when they get back to the berg. Minho is worried for an entirely different reason, because he’s positive Newt would never let himself get that far.

Minho’s insides are twisting themselves in knots by the time they get through security and leave the city. Thomas has no idea how scared he should be. He’s scared alright, Minho can see that much, but he should be so much more scared than he is. Minho remembers the day he and Alby realized Newt hadn’t come back from the Maze; he can still feel that creeping dread, the rush of horror, and that awful half hour waiting for Alby to bring him back. And even when Alby had brought him back, just in time, the fear that he might die anyway.

Thomas has no fucking clue, and Minho can’t tell him, so he worries in silence.

As soon as they get to the berg and see that it’s turned off and Newt is nowhere in sight, Minho knows deep in his heart that something terrible has happened.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, and immediately runs up the ramp and inside. _Maybe it’s not too late,_ he thinks. If he can just find Newt in time, maybe he can still save him. He runs through the ship, calling Newt’s name with increasing desperation, but every time he gets nothing but silence in response, he feels a little more hope trickling away.

And then he sees the piece of paper, and his heart pounds like it’s trying to kick its way out of his chest.

He’s sure it’s a suicide note. He’s positive. And if he takes one more step he’ll see Newt’s body swinging from the ceiling, or lying on the floor in a pool of blood, and he just can’t take that, he can’t handle seeing Newt drained of all the vibrancy and personality he had in life, nothing but an empty vessel, he just can’t, so he freezes and he feels like he himself might be dying too, actually, because he’s about 99% sure this is what a heart attack feels like, _(am I having a heart attack?)_ he must be having a heart attack because what else would make him feel like his chest was exploding and his vision was going blurry and he wanted to vomit but also collapse on the floor and also possibly fall asleep and he couldn’t feel his limbs and the world was definitely ending, it must be ending because how could it go on turning when Newt was dead, how could everything continue as it always had when Newt was here no longer? He’s shaking like a leaf and he’s seriously about to throw up, no really, he can feel it pushing its way up his esophagus, but somehow he takes another step forward and he sees a hand reach out to grab the note but it’s not his hand, it can’t be, because he never told his hand to move, but the hand reaches out and grabs the note and holds it up to his face, and his vision is actually jumping from side to side because of how hard his heart is pounding, he can feel it beating in his chest and the letters on the page twitch in time, _ba-DUM, ba-DUM, ba-DUM, ba-DUM, --_

**They got inside somehow. They’re taking me to live with the other Cranks.  
** **It’s for the best. Thanks for being my friends.**  
**Goodbye.**

Minho has to read the note three times before it sinks in that it’s not a suicide note, and for a second he’s so relieved that he sinks onto one of the couches as the feeling slowly returns to his arms and legs and he tries to regain control of his breathing.

But then he reads it again, and again for a fifth time, and he realizes what it means. Newt may not be dead yet, but he’s still gone.

He reads the note a sixth time, absurdly hoping that this time it might be different, but it’s not. Newt is still infected, and still gone. Minho doesn’t even notice Thomas has entered the room until he speaks.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asks, and Minho can hardly bring himself to say the words.

“Come see for yourself,” he answers, holding the note out to Thomas. He leans back on the couch and puts his other hand over his eyes, as if that can somehow block out the awful truth. “He’s gone.” It comes out as barely a whisper, and for a second Minho thinks about falling apart. What would happen if he just let go, stopped caring? Would giving up be easier?

_No._ He refuses to accept this. He’s not going to give up, and he’s certainly not going to let Newt give up like this either. The Newt he knew wouldn’t want him to. _The Newt he knew wouldn’t have gone without a fight,_ he thinks grimly. Newt is going through a bit of a crisis, that’s all, and he needs Minho to remind him that he does actually want to keep fighting.

Minho thinks about those days back in the Glade after the Incident, when he had watched Newt fight tooth and nail to keep a fragile grip on his sanity. Newt didn’t fight so hard to make it this far just to give up now. Minho refuses to accept it.

“I want you three to listen to me.” They all look up at him, and Minho reads the hopelessness in the tight lines around their eyes. He tries to banish it with sheer force of will. “Ever since we broke out of WICKED, I’ve basically gone along with whatever you slintheads ended up saying we should do. And I haven’t complained. Much.” He anticipates Thomas’ objection and attempts a sarcastic smile in his direction. He isn’t sure if he brought it off. “But right here, right now, I’m making a decision and you’re going to do what I say. And if anyone pushes back, to hell with you.”

He tries to imbue his voice with more confidence than he feels. He thinks it’s working when he sees the faint sliver of pride in Thomas’ eyes. Minho feels a rush of affection for him; of course he cares about Newt as much as Minho himself does. He would want to get Newt back too. Minho also feels a stirring of guilt for all the hateful thoughts he’s been sending Thomas’ way recently, but he clamps down on it. That’s not helpful at the moment. He can worry about dissecting his motivations and possible (probable) jealousy of Thomas later.

“I know we have bigger goals in mind,” he continues. “We need to connect with the Right Arm, figure out what to do about WICKED, all that save-the-world klunk. But first we’re going to find Newt. This isn’t open for discussion. The four of us – all of us – are flying to wherever we need to go, and we’re getting Newt out of there.”

Brenda starts describing a Crank Palace, but Minho is barely listening. He only needs to know where it is.

Brenda is the only one who seems at all reluctant. Minho almost hopes she’ll argue so he has someone to turn the tide of his fury against, but in the end she goes along without protest, and so Minho has to keep all that unspent energy pent up inside. Nevermind; he’ll need it enough when they get to the Crank Palace.

When they get there, Minho is surprised by how little concern he feels that there might be trouble with the Cranks. In fact, he almost relishes the thought. He has a vague idea that he might be weirding Thomas out with his blase attitude, but that only makes him act even wilder. He hasn’t felt this feral since they first woke up in the Glade with no memories. Newt was about 95% of Minho’s impulse control, and Newt is gone.

The guards push back; they want a bribe or they won’t talk. Minho can tell Jorge is going to refuse, so he jumps in first. “We’ve got money, shuck-face. Now tell us where our friend is.”

“Show me your cash cards or this conversation is over,” the guard demands. “I want at least a thousand.”

“He’s got it all,” Minho answers, gesturing at Jorge. He doesn’t care if Jorge has to hand over his entire salary from WICKED, they’re getting Newt back.

Jorge shows the guard the card but tells him he’s not getting anything until they show them the way, which is probably smart, because these look like exactly the kind of slintheads to take a bribe and then shoot you in the back.

And then they’re on their way through the Crank Palace. One of the guards, the shorter one, is talking Thomas’ ear off, and every so often Brenda and Thomas start philosophizing about the horror of the Flare and the plight of the infected, but Minho does his best to shut it all out and only focus on finding Newt. Sure, he feels bad for those other people, but he doesn’t have enough surplus compassion to let his heart bleed over all these random people who aren’t Newt.

Instead, he thinks about what he’s going to say when he sees Newt again. First, he’s going to apologize for leaving him on the berg in the first place, and for staying in the city and leaving him alone for so long. Then he’s going to apologize again for being so prickly with him back at the WICKED compound when they were escaping. And he’s going to promise again that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep Newt safe, to help him get better, just like he’s always done. He’ll tell Newt that they can go far away, where no one will bother them, and he won’t let Newt hurt anyone, and they’ll find him some medicine. There has to be some kind of – of antiviral medications, or something. Vague, half-formed memories float through his head of reverse transcriptase inhibitors, protease inhibitors, entry inhibitors – he’s sure he remembers there being such medications to stop viruses from invading cells and replicating. They can find some for Newt, and even if it’s not a cure, it will buy him some time – if they’re lucky, enough time that maybe they won’t even need a cure. He’ll tell Newt about these medications, and that will give Newt enough hope to keep fighting.

And maybe, just maybe, if he’s feeling very, very brave, he’ll tell Newt something else too, something he should have told him a long time ago.

(He had almost told him once before, back in the Glade one night when Newt had woken him up in the middle of the night to go on a walk. But Minho had hesitated just a second too long, he hadn’t been brave enough, and then the moment had passed.)

(He thinks this time he might be able to tell Newt, because this time he has nothing to lose. Newt will choose Thomas, and that’s fine, but Minho doesn’t want to go the rest of his life without ever telling Newt this particular fact, especially since the rest of his life isn’t looking like it will be very long.)

Finally the guards come back, but they don’t have Newt with them.

“What’d you find out?” Minho asks, so fast that the words trip over themselves on the way out of his mouth.

The guards are looking shifty, and Minho already knows it’s not good news. _Please not dead, please don’t let him be dead._

“Took some asking around, but I think we found your guy,” the taller guard answers. “Looks just like you described, and he turned toward us when we called his name. But…”

Minho’s heart, which had swelled with hope when the guard had described a very not-dead Newt, quickly sank again. “But what?” he urged. _Just spit it out, you stupid fuck. What is it? Is he hurt? Is he losing his mind? Is he –_

“He said – very pointedly, I might add – to tell you guys to get lost."

For a second he just blinks. That can’t possibly be right. That can’t be what Newt said. The guards must be lying.

“Show us where he is,” Minho orders.

The guards bluster and argue and demand the money they were promised. _Ah, there it is,_ Minho thinks. The guards think they can trick them into handing over the money without actually having to find Newt. Minho doubts they even found Newt at all.

“Hey!” he shouts at the guards, who are whispering deliberations, probably trying to figure out how they can wriggle out of this situation. “If you want that money, let’s go!”

They finally agree, and Minho follows directly behind them so they can’t try any funny business.

They pass by some Cranks beating the shit out of each other, and of course Thomas wants to stop and help, but the guards refuse. For once Minho agrees with them. He wonders how Thomas isn’t exhausted with sticking his nose into other people’s business all the time.

“Just get us to Newt,” he tells the guards.

They keep walking, but Minho can tell Thomas is genuinely upset by the screaming and the noises made by human bodies breaking. At first he’s irritated, but then he feels bad. He knows he’s being unfair to Thomas; it was Thomas caring so damn much that helped them get out of the Maze, and across the Scorch. And it was probably Thomas caring so damn much that made Newt fall in love with him, and if he’s being completely honest with himself, it’s one of the things that made Minho himself decide to care about Thomas. That and his idiotic stubbornness, which despite being infuriating at times had also helped them get out of more than a few close scrapes.

Minho sees that the sight of the Cranks is really getting to Thomas, especially once they get inside the Central Zone, so he tries to make him feel better and ease the tension with a little joke: “Remind me not to buy any real estate here.”

Thomas doesn’t laugh, and Minho feels even worse. _Newt would have laughed at that,_ he thinks. _At least, he would have before the Flare._

They reach the bowling alley where Newt is supposedly staying. Minho pokes his head through the doorway, and there in the back is a figure that he’s sure he recognizes.

“I can see him in the back,” Minho reports to Thomas. “It’s dark in there, but it’s definitely him.”

It seems the guards really had found Newt. But had he really told them to get lost? Even after everything Newt had said and done back at the WICKED compound under the influence of the Flare, Minho just couldn’t believe it.

The guards again demand their money, and Minho waits impatiently while the guards and Jorge haggle over how much more they need to stay and help them get back to the berg. As soon as Jorge is done paying them, Minho says, “Come on,” to Thomas, and enters the dark and dirty bowling alley.

They pick their way around the Cranks and scattered debris, and Minho points out to Thomas the figure that he identified as Newt. They’re walking towards him, still about ten feet away, when Newt speaks.

“I told you bloody shanks to get lost!” he shouts. He sounds angry, and his voice is so different from the one Minho remembers, so harsh and devoid of any warmth or familiarity, that it stops Minho cold. He feels Thomas, walking behind him, get right up to his back and almost collide with him, not realizing Minho has stopped until the last minute. Apparently the guards weren’t lying after all. It’s this thought, more than any other, that keeps Minho frozen there where he stopped, rooted to the ground in terror.

Part of him, frightened by that voice, already thinks this is a lost cause. Minho takes a second to collect himself. _Remember everything you said you would tell him,_ he thinks to himself. _You’re not leaving here without him. Just say everything you need to say, and he’ll change his mind. You can convince him to come back with you._

He starts walking again, edging around Cranks in the way. “We need to talk to you,” he says carefully. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears.

“Don’t come any closer,” Newt warns him. Minho isn’t even sure how Newt can see them; he’s sitting down, hunched over, his face turned partially away. “Those thugs brought me here for a reason. They thought I was a bloody immune holed up in that shuck berg. Imagine their surprise when they could tell I had the Flare eating my brain. Said they were doing their civic duty when they dumped me in this rat hole.” He’s speaking quieter now, but his voice still has that strange, harsh quality. He doesn’t sound like himself at all, in tone or in words. _He sounds so mean,_ Minho thinks numbly. He’s never sounded that mean before, not even at the WICKED compound when the Flare first started affecting him.

_I’m sorry,_ Minho tries to say, mouths the words, but he can’t find his voice. _I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry._ It’s dark, but he thinks Newt is looking at his face from where he’s hunched on the ground. Maybe he can make out the words.

Minho starts to clear his throat, but Thomas, still behind him and unable to see him struggling to speak, jumps in. “Why do you think we’re here, Newt? I’m sorry you had to stay back and got caught. I’m sorry they brought you here. But we can break you out–it doesn’t look like anyone gives a klunk who comes or goes.”

_No,_ Minho thinks furiously, _that’s the wrong apology. Not “I’m sorry you had to stay back,” but “I’m sorry we left you.” Not “I’m sorry they brought you here,” but “I’m sorry it took us so long to come back, and I’m sorry we were too late to help you.”_ He shakes his head slightly, trying to get Newt’s attention, to finally spit out all the things he planned on the way here, but it feels like there are too many things, and they all crowd in his throat, getting jammed there before they can make their way out. He feels like he’s going to choke on all those unsaid things.

Newt turns toward them more fully, and a flicker of light passes over his face. Minho’s heart clenches painfully; Newt looks awful – tired and worn and sad, so sad, like he’s given up already. Minho finally finds his voice, and he opens his mouth to speak, but that’s when he notices –

“Woah, there,” he says, and steps back involuntarily. “Slim it nice and calm. There’s no need to point a shuck launcher at my face while we talk.” Inwardly, he curses his inability to say anything except these trivialities – where was his voice two seconds ago, when he was going to explain to Newt how sorry he was? “Where’d you get that thing, anyway?” It’s so unlike Newt to threaten him with a weapon that for a second Minho thinks it must be a sick joke.

“I stole it,” Newt tells him. “Took it from a guard who made me… unhappy.” Newt’s hands are shaking, and Minho’s heart aches. He wonders if he can get to Newt and take the launcher from his hands before Newt shoots him – he looks so mad, Minho actually wouldn’t put it past him to pull the trigger, but Minho might be able to get there faster –

“I’m… not well,” Newt continues. “Honestly, I appreciate you buggin’ shanks coming for me. I mean it. But this is where it bloody ends. This is when you turn around and walk back out that door and head for your berg and fly away. Do you understand me?”

_Yeah, right,_ Minho thinks, _and then pigs will fly and it’ll rain chocolate sauce from the sky._ “No, Newt, I don’t understand,” he says instead. He can hear his voice getting higher and more agitated. “We risked our necks to come to this place and you’re our friend and we’re taking you home. You wanna whine and cry while you go crazy, that’s fine. But you’re gonna do it with us, not with these shuck Cranks.” He knows this is coming out wrong – too belligerent and dismissive, and he’s not saying any of the things he planned, that list of important things, if he can just remember –

Newt jumps to his feet with a speed that startles Minho. “I _am_ a Crank, Minho! I _am_ a Crank! Why can’t you get that through your bloody head? If you had the Flare and knew what you were about to go through, would you want your friends to stand around and watch? Huh? Would you want that?” He’s screaming now, really going for it, spit flying from his mouth, and all Minho can do is stand there gaping at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He’s just – if he can just gather his thoughts – there was something important, something he needed to tell Newt, he had a list – goddammit, why can’t he _think?_

Suddenly Newt’s gaze swings to Thomas. “And _you,_ Tommy,” he says, sounding so hateful that the only thing Minho can think is that he’s glad Newt didn’t sound like that talking to _him,_ because he’s sure he would have died on the spot, “you’ve got a lot of nerve coming here and asking me to leave with you. A lot of bloody nerve. The sight of you makes me sick.”

Thomas looks stunned and hurt. “What are you talking about?” he asks. Minho wouldn’t mind knowing what Newt’s talking about either. He tries to think, but he’s completely at a loss.

Unfortunately for both of them, Newt doesn’t answer, but he does lower the launcher and look down. Minho can see him making a visible effort to get himself under control.

“Newt, I don’t get it,” Thomas says. “Why are you saying all this?”

Newt looks up at them, and Minho thinks that he almost looks like himself again, and when he speaks, it’s with a voice that sounds almost like the one Minho remembers from his Newt.

“I’m sorry, guys. I’m sorry. But I need you to listen to me. I’m getting worse by the hour and I don’t have many sane ones left. Please leave.”

_All the more reason for you to come with us, your friends,_ Minho starts to say. Thomas opens his mouth to say something too, but Newt cuts them both off.

“No! No more talking from you.” Minho isn’t sure, but he thinks Newt is only talking to Thomas when he says ‘you’. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. “Just… please. Please leave. I’m begging you. I’m begging you to do this one thing for me. As sincerely as I’ve ever asked for anything in my life, I want you to do this for me. There’s a group I’ve met that are a lot like me and they’re planning to break out and head for Denver later today. I’m going with them.” Newt pauses, and looks at Thomas. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I can’t be with you guys anymore. It’s gonna be hard enough for me now, and it’ll make it worse if I know you have to witness it. Or worst of all, if I hurt you. So let’s say our bloody goodbyes and then you can promise to remember me from the good old days.”

Minho can tell Newt is trying to have the last word, leave them on a positive note, but Minho’s absolutely not having it. “I can’t do that,” he tells Newt sincerely. He’s promised himself he won’t leave here without Newt, and he intends to keep that promise.

“Shuck it!” Newt shouts, turning to face him. “Do you have any clue how hard it is to be calm right now? I said my piece and I’m done. Now get out of here! Do you understand me? Get _out_ of here!”

Now some of the other Cranks decide to get involved. “I believe our new friend asked you people to leave him alone,” one of them says, poking Thomas in the chest as a clumsy intimidation tactic.

Thomas doesn’t look intimidated, and Minho feels a small burst of gratitude. “This is none of your business,” Thomas says. “He was our friend way before he came here.”

“That boy’s a Crank now, and so are we,” the man argues. “That makes him our business. Now _leave_ him… _alone_.”

Minho feels that familiar stirring of rage in him, that wild abandon and disregard for consequences that seizes him at moments like this. “Hey, psycho, maybe your ears are clogged with the Flare. This is between us and Newt. _You_ leave.”

The guy grins a horrible, menacing grin that looks more like a scowl, and holds up a shard of glass. He’s trying to be intimidating again, but it backfires because Minho can see he hasn’t even wrapped the glass in a rag or anything to hold it with and it’s cutting into his hand, Minho can see the blood dripping down his arm, which means this guy is dumber than a bag of rocks, which means Minho can definitely take him in a fight. “I was hoping you would resist,” the guy says in what he probably thinks is an intimidating snarl but actually makes Minho want to laugh right in his stupid face. “I’ve been bored.”

_You and me both, buddy,_ Minho thinks grimly, and automatically drops into a fighting stance; low center of gravity, feet shoulder width apart, left foot forward, springing on the balls of his feet, ready to move. He revels in that rush that he always gets just before things kick off, the vanishing of all his fear (and probably his good sense), replaced by a heady energy that zips through his veins, crackling like electricity.

The guy swings at Thomas first, but Thomas ducks out of the way, and Brenda, moving with a nimble agility that has Minho reconsidering his anti-Brenda position, disarms him with a quick jab, knocking the shard of glass to the ground. Minho takes advantage of the distraction to tackle the guy, and they both land on the ground with a heavy _thud_ that Minho feels all the way to his bones. His teeth clacked together when he hit the ground, and it feels like his brain is rattling around in his skull. They knock into a woman lying on the ground, who immediately screams and joins the fray. She scratches at Minho’s face, but he ignores her, wrestling the guy’s arm out from under him and wrenching it behind his back in a move that he doesn’t remember learning but he knows can yank the guy’s shoulder out of its socket if he pulls just a little bit harder –

“Stop it!” Newt’s yelling, “stop it now!”

Minho ignores him, trying to keep ahold of the guy’s arm so he can’t wriggle away, keeping the pressure on his shoulder so he starts to cry out in pain, and Minho thinks he wouldn’t have to push much farther to snap the guy’s brittle, disease-weakened tendons and ligaments, he can feel them straining beneath his hand, and it scares him that this thought doesn’t scare him. The woman is still scrabbling at his neck ineffectually, but it’s nothing more than a fly buzzing in his ear, a mild annoyance. She’s kicking wildly and mostly missing because she’s all ferocious energy and no discipline or precision; Minho aims one good kick at her solar plexus and all the wind shoots out of her and she doubles over, completely silent, not even enough air to groan.

Newt’s voice finally cuts through the red haze in Minho’s brain. “Stop or I’ll start shooting and not give a buggin’ piece of of klunk who gets hit!” His voice is eerily calm, and Minho realizes that he really means it. He lets the guy’s arm go, and they both struggle to their feet stiffly. The guy aims one last mean-spirited kick at the woman, who’s still lying on the ground winded, and she finally gets enough air back to scream at him.

The next thing Minho knows, the guys is twitching and seizing on the ground as bolts of electricity shot through him. Minho turns to look at Newt, who’s standing there with wide eyes, launcher in hand, as if he can’t believe his own nerve.

Then Newt sets his mouth in a grim line, looking determined. “I told him to stop,” he whispers. He aims the launcher at Minho, and he’s trembling. Minho just wants to hug him, to hold him until he stops shaking. “Now you guys leave,” Newt continues. “No more discussion. I’m sorry.”

Minho holds his hands up in an _‘I surrender’_ gesture. He almost laughs in disbelief. “You’re going to shoot me? Old pal?” The break in his voice is obvious to him, and probably to Newt, but he doubts if anyone else notices.

“Go,” Newt says. “I asked nicely. Now I’m telling.” There are tears in his eyes; Minho can see them glistening in the dim firelight. He watches as one leaks out and trails slowly down Newt’s cheek. “This is hard enough. Go.”

“Newt, let’s go outside,” Minho tries, thinking that if he can just get him away from all these stupid Cranks, if he can take his hand remind him that they’re best friends and Minho doesn’t give one single flying fuck if Newt is crazy or if he tries to hurt someone, because Minho won’t let him hurt anyone, he’ll –

“Go!” Newt says, louder this time, and he hefts the launcher threateningly. “Get out of here!”

_Please,_ Minho mouths to Newt, begging him with his eyes to reconsider. Newt sees him – he shakes his head – just slightly, but to Minho it’s unmistakable. His heart cracks open for the hundredth time that day.

Minho has never been drowned, but he imagines this is what it feels like. Like he’s floating away, limbs numb, head light and yet thick, like it’s stuffed full of cotton and he can’t think. He’s not sure if he’s breathing or not. He’s also not sure if he cares.

“Let’s go,” Thomas is saying at his elbow. “Come on.”

What little air he has left seems to rush out of Minho’s lungs as he looks at Thomas. “You can’t be serious.”

Thomas nods at him, and Minho wants to slap him. He looks at the floor instead. _You never deserved him,_ he thinks furiously at Thomas. _He loved you, and you’re going to just walk away and leave him here._

Instead he says, “How did the world get so shucked?” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. His anger with Thomas vanishes as quickly as it came, and in its place he just feels a great and terrible emptiness. Newt has been a part of his life for literally as long as he can remember. He can’t even imagine what the future would look like without Newt in it.

“I’m sorry,” Newt says, and he’s really crying now, the tears streaming down his face. “I’m… I’m going to shoot you if you don’t go. Now.”

Minho opens his mouth to refuse; he doesn’t even care if Newt shoots him, he’d rather get shot a thousand times than leave Newt here, he’d rather _die,_ but before he can say anything, before he can remember that list – all those terribly important things he needed to tell Newt, the things that would convince him to come back with them – Thomas grabs his arm and starts herding him and Brenda away.

Minho looks back for one last glimpse, and a sob hitches in his throat when he sees Newt’s face. Newt is still crying, watching them go, and he looks so dreadfully, desperately sad – like his own heart is breaking, as well as Minho’s. Tears gather in the corners of Minho’s eyes, blurring his vision, but they don’t fall, not yet.

Minho allows Thomas to drag him away, and he doesn’t resist, too shocked by what’s just happened to even think of it. Later, he’ll hate himself for not fighting out of Thomas’ grip, for not running back to Newt, launcher be damned, and begging him to return with them. And if he still couldn’t convince him, he should have stayed behind with Newt, should have died rather than leave his side. But right now all he can think about is Newt telling them to get out, his words a dull repetition in Minho’s brain: _Go, get out of here, go, get out of here, go, go, go…_ It drives out all other thought.

There’s trouble on the way back to the berg: they get chased by Cranks, but in truth Minho barely notices. He feels like he’s running on autopilot; his limbs are moving and his mouth is talking, but there’s nobody in the cockpit.

When they’re in the berg and hovering out of reach of the Cranks, Thomas looks down and starts waxing poetic about the plight of the poor innocent Cranks who just chased them through the streets in an attempt to eat them. Brenda waxes with him, and that is the last straw for Minho. He snaps.

“How can you worry about _them?_” he yells. “Was I alone just now? With my _friend_? His name is Newt.”

Thomas and Brenda look at him with shock written all over their faces. He doesn’t care; he wants to keep yelling at them until his voice is hoarse.

“Nothing we could’ve done,” Jorge calls back to him, flipping switches in the cockpit.

Minho turns on him, then. “Just shut up and fly, shuck-face.”

He thinks Jorge will snap back at him, or at least take offense at the insult, but all he does is say, “I’ll do my best,” sighing unhappily.

And with that, all the fight and the anger rush out of him, leaving behind only the pain. He slumps to the floor, his legs finally giving out on him. He looks into empty space, not really seeing.

“What happens when he runs out of launcher grenades?” he wonders aloud, and his voice cracks. He doesn’t want to think about it, but now he’s started he can’t stop. What if one of those stupid Cranks hurts him? What if a whole group of them attack him? What if one of the really far gone ones tries to eat him? What if...

Thomas sits next to him, but stays mercifully quiet. After a while, his legs start to go numb from sitting on the hard floor, so he moves to a couch, and Thomas follows him. Minho rubs his face desperately, trying to scrub away those images of the terrible things that might be happening to Newt right at this moment.

He hates how they left things. Was that really the last time he would speak to Newt? And he hadn’t said anything that really mattered. Would he really never be able to touch Newt again? With all those friendly little casual touches that Minho normally avoided, except when it was Newt; a hug, a bump of the shoulder, a touch of the hand. When was the last time he had touched Newt? Was it… his stomach drops for a second and he thinks it was their fight at the WICKED compound; he wants to throw up, but then he remembers on the berg, when Thomas was unconscious and they were finally able to talk, face to face, all the bullshit gone. Out of all the horribleness of today, he has that one tiny thing to be grateful for, at least.

“Why did he do that?” he whispers. “Why wouldn’t he come back with us? Why would he point that weapon at my face?” He knows Newt didn’t want them to have to watch him go crazy, that he didn’t want them to remember him that way, but it’s still so hard for Minho to understand why he’d rather be in that hellhole with all those insane, dangerous strangers than with his friends. And the old Newt would never, not in a million years, have pointed a launcher at Minho. He hates how much his friend has been changed by this disease. And it happened so quickly, Minho was blindsided by it. They barely found out Newt wasn’t immune before he was already deteriorating.

“He never would’ve pulled the trigger,” Thomas reassures him, somewhat untruthfully, Minho thinks.

“You saw his eyes when they changed. Complete lunacy. I’d be fried if I’d kept pushing.” He pauses, his eyes filling with tears again. “He’s crazy, man. He’s gone whacker from top to bottom.” He feels like the words are ripping the insides out of him as they leave his throat. It hurts, thinking of Newt that way, but there’s no other way to explain how Newt was acting.

“Maybe it’s a good thing.”

Minho turns to look at him in surprise. “Come again?”

“Maybe when their minds go, they’re not themselves anymore. Maybe the Newt we know is gone and he’s not aware of what’s happening to him. So really, he’s not suffering.”

Minho can see why that would be an appealing thought, but he knows it’s not true. Newt had been crazy, yes; but there had also been just enough sanity there to make it that much more heartbreaking. Minho refuses to deceive himself that way, and he doesn’t think Thomas should, either. “Nice try, slinthead, but I don’t believe it. I think he’ll always be there just enough to be screaming on the inside, deranged and suffering every shuck second of it. Tormented like a dude buried alive.” It fits with what they saw. Newt was still in there, trying to protect them from himself.

He had thought his heart couldn’t break any more, but another piece of it chips off. Newt is going to die, slowly and in the worst way he can think of. Newt is the last person who deserves something like that. If Minho could trade places with him, sacrifice himself in Newt’s place, he would. But instead his friend is suffering, and there’s nothing he can do. He can’t even be there with him, in the end… Minho feels a second away from falling apart.

Finally they land back in Denver. Thomas rubs his face tiredly and says, “I guess we’re here.”

Minho thinks about all the time they’ve spent evading WICKED, and for what? Was anything they did even worth the cost it had taken to achieve? Maybe they would have been better off staying at the WICKED compound after all. At least then he might have gotten to stay with Newt.

“I think I understand WICKED a little more now,” he says, still thinking as the words come out slowly. “After seeing those eyes up close. Seeing the madness. It’s not the same when it’s someone you’ve known for so long. I’ve watched plenty of friends die, but I can’t imagine anything worse. The Flare, man. If we could find a cure for that…” he trails off, thinking about what he would sacrifice to save Newt. The answer is the same as it’s always been: _anything._

“I’m sorry,” Brenda says softly. Minho knows she’s trying to be nice, but he wishes she would just butt out. She barely even knew Newt; she only ever bothered to get to know Thomas. This tragedy doesn’t belong to her, it belongs to him and Thomas only.

“I know it’s hard,” Brenda continues, “but we need to think about what we’re doing next.”

In a flash, all of Minho’s anger, which had evaporated so quickly before, is back with a vengeance. He jumps to his feet. “You can think all you want about whatever shuck thing you want. We just left our friend with a bunch of psychos.” He leaves the room, wanting only to be alone with his grief.

He feels completely isolated, in more ways than one. He can’t remember a time when he’s been away from Newt for more than a day. In the Glade, they had spoken to each other at least once a day,even if it was just a few words in passing. Now, without him, it’s as though he’s suddenly missing an arm, or a lung. _Or a heart._

There have been several times in the past few days that Minho has considered breaking down, but he’s always held it together because he wanted to be there for Newt. But Newt no longer needs him; worse still, Newt no longer _wants_ him. So there’s nothing to stop him falling apart.

Minho has never been much of a cryer, the past few days notwithstanding, but now he really lets loose. He cries so hard he gets a headache, harder than he’s ever cried in his life, at least that he can remember.

He just feels so… lost. If he’d had a compass, Newt was north, but now the arrow is spinning around in meaningless circles, leaving him directionless and disoriented. It doesn’t matter where he goes or what he does. Nothing matters, without Newt.

Minho thinks about all the things he wishes he could change, all the things he wishes he could go back and do differently: in the Scorch, when he kept snapping at Newt because he was feeling so much pressure from being the one responsible for everyone’s lives (and also a little, if he’s being honest, because he had started to notice how much Newt paid attention to Thomas, and that first tiny bit of jealousy had reared its head); every single argument they’d had at the WICKED compound while trying to escape, Minho saying everything wrong and setting Newt off again and again; and most of all, at the Crank Palace, when Minho couldn’t find his voice until it was too late, when he had gotten so agitated he couldn’t remember the important things he needed to tell Newt.

Minho wishes he were someone else, someone who would have known the right things to say and actually said them, someone who wouldn’t have made Newt feel even worse when he was already going through something unimaginably difficult. Someone who Newt would have trusted, someone who Newt would have wanted to stay with, even in his darkest hours, in the throes of insanity. He wishes he could undo everything, go back and try again to get it right.

He already misses Newt so much, and it’s only been a few hours. How the hell is he going to make it through the rest of his life?

They camp out on the berg a few days. Supposedly it’s so they can plan, but after two days it seems the entire plan so far amounts to: “find Gally”. It’s pretty pathetic as far as plans go, even for Thomas. If you asked Minho (not that anyone did), this plan was stupid and pointless; if it were up to him, they would be heading somewhere remote. The south pole, perhaps. Minho gets a mental image of Newt in a parka playing with a penguin, and he wants to start crying again.

Of course, after all that “planning”, they get captured by WICKED again before they even step foot in the city, and Minho can barely bring himself to care (that is, they think it’s WICKED at first, but then it turns out it might be another group – all these different groups were so hard to keep track of, and honestly, when you got up close, they all looked pretty much the same). Teresa is there, and Aris, and a bunch of other immunes. Teresa and Aris look happy to see them, or at least to see Thomas, and Thomas shakes Aris’ hand, clearly glad to see a familiar face. Minho is set on ignoring the both of them, until Teresa mentions Frypan – he’d been caught by another group a few days ago, she says. Probably been sold back to WICKED by now.

“I can see you’re as cheerful as always,” Minho says to Teresa, voice completely flat. “So glad to be back in your sunshiny presence.”

Teresa ignores him (_Well, fuck you, too,_ he thinks), and asks Thomas to speak to her – _in private_. Minho is about sick to death of people wanting to speak to Thomas _in private_. He sees Brenda shooting daggers at Teresa, and rolls his eyes at the predictability of it all.

Naturally, Thomas agrees to speak to Teresa, _in private_. The boy’s a sucker for someone’s undivided attention, apparently, but Jesus Christ, Minho’s going to get whiplash – he can barely keep track, one minute it’s Brenda and the next it’s Teresa, _make up your goddamn mind already, Thomas, I don’t give a rat’s ass which one you pick but have mercy on us all and fucking pick one of them so we can stop this tedious dance._ He knows he’s being cruel, and unfair, but he doesn’t care. There’s a thick, impenetrable numbness wrapped around him like a cocoon, and the only thing he can feel is the barest sting of irritation, like the pinprick bite of a mosquito. Other than that, there’s just… nothing. A great big _void_ where his emotions should be.

Teresa and Thomas go off to have their talk _(in private)_, which is good because the sight of her makes Minho sick and he doesn’t want to throw up all over Aris. Poor kid hasn’t done anything; not to Minho, at least.

When Thomas comes back from his talk with Teresa, _in private,_ he looks agitated and confused. Minho has no sympathy for him. “So what did that shuck traitor have to say?” he asks, just to rub it in.

Thomas sits down beside him, but doesn’t speak right away.

“Well?” Minho asks, impatient.

Thomas tells them – more bullshit about WICKED, some story about how she’s actually been trying to help him all along, blah blah blah – “...and she said she’d help us if she can.”

Minho snorts and shakes his head. If Thomas falls for that one, he’s truly reached heretofore undreamt of peaks of dumbassery. “You’re a slinthead. You shouldn’t have talked to her.”

“Thanks,” Thomas says sarcastically, but looks like maybe he half agrees with Minho, and Minho’s mood toward Thomas thaws ever so slightly. It’s a lot easier to be nice to a dumbass who _knows_ he’s a dumbass but is trying his best.

By now absolutely filled to the brim with restless energy and spoiling for a fight, Minho tells Thomas he could take the one guard who’s armed. Thomas warns him that the guard has a gun, and Minho gives some imitation of his usual bravado.

What Minho doesn’t say is that he half hopes the guard will shoot him. At least then he’d be able to feel _something_.

He attacks the guard, and he doesn’t get shot. He beats the guard until his face is covered in blood; he bruises his knuckles on the guards face, and still he feels nothing.

Maybe he never will again.

Thomas threatens one of the Right Arm people with a gun, but he won’t pull the trigger and the guy knows it. That’s fine, because Minho will. He takes the gun from Thomas and shoots off the guy’s small toe. He can tell Thomas is shocked, but he doesn’t care.

He takes every opportunity he can to beat up anyone who gets in his way: WICKED staff, Right Arm guards, it doesn’t matter. He has to admit it feels satisfying to be doing something, but in the end he doesn’t feel any better. Newt is still gone. He’s still out there, somewhere, going mad from the Flare.

The rest of their flight to Paradise is something of a blur. Minho continues to function almost as normal; he talks, he helps Thomas strategize, helps organize their final escape from WICKED, he even makes the occasional lame joke. But he does all of it without truly being present. In his mind he’s still out looking for Newt, still trying to persuade him to come back with them. Maybe when this is all over, if they make it out alive, they can go looking for Newt again. Minho bets Thomas will want to find him too, once he’s gotten his head out of his ass and stopped making cow eyes at both Teresa and Brenda. Newt is worth more than both of them combined, multiplied and raised to the tenth power. Minho even promises himself not to be jealous of Newt and Thomas, if he can just get Newt back.

They finally make it, to _Paradise_, but Minho knows that it will never really be Paradise for him. Not without Newt.

They lose Teresa at the last minute, and Minho feels bad, but more in a “feels bad because he doesn’t actually feel bad” kind of way. He’s sorry for Thomas’ sake, but he never really cared for Teresa.

Minho busies himself trying to get things organized and moving, just like they did in the Glade in the early days, knowing that if he sits still for more than ten seconds he’ll break down completely, or start screaming and never stop. _Later,_ he thinks. _There will be time for all of that later._ Actually, he finds that this part is relatively easy, because they know how to survive and build a society from their days in the Glade. So maybe not everything WICKED did was unconscionably stupid; they got this one thing right. Still, he can’t bring himself to feel grateful. Nothing they did in the past or do in the future will ever be enough to make up for what they did to his friends. To Alby, to Winston, to Chuck. To George, Mark, Phillip, Ed, Perry, Greg, Ernie, Pierre, Jack, Emmett, Alan, and everyone else they lost in the Maze or Scorch or after. To Jackson and Lee, who are still out there somewhere, who knows where, certainly infected by now (that is if they aren’t dead already).

And to Newt. No matter what happens, no matter if WICKED miraculously found a cure tomorrow and saved everyone else in the entire world, Minho would never forgive them for what they did to Newt.


	3. Chapter 3

After the first few weeks, once things start to calm down and settle into a new sort of normal, Minho starts to think about finding Newt again.

He first brings it up to Thomas two weeks after they first arrive in Paradise. Surprisingly, Thomas is not as receptive to the idea as Minho had hoped. He makes some excuse about needing to focus on surviving and building a society, and he won’t look directly at Minho when he says it. But Minho tells himself that wasn’t a direct no, and Thomas probably just wants to have a little longer to rest and recuperate after the truly awful ordeal they went through. He brings it up again a few days later, and Thomas’ response is roughly the same. Minho waits a few more days, and brings it up again. And again, it’s “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Minho,” and “we don’t even know for sure that he’s still alive”.

Minho’s not stupid. He knows it’s a long shot. They know Newt was planning on going to the city with the other Cranks, but they don’t know for sure if he made it there, or where he might have gone after the city fell. He might have been shot by city guards, or caught in an explosion, or crushed by a falling building. Even if he survived, he could have gone anywhere. He might have gotten into a fight with some other Cranks. He might have gone fully Crank himself. Even if by some miracle they do find him, there’s no knowing what condition his mind might be in. Minho thinks about how he would feel to find a half-crazed Newt, intent on eating the flesh of his fellow humans. Or a Newt past the Gone, not even a shred of his oldest and best friend’s mind left inside his rotting and ruined body.

Even knowing that all of those scenarios are very real possibilities, Minho will still take those odds. Of course he will. Because it’s Newt. And if Newt has to die, then Minho will be there for him, until the bitter end.

So Minho decides, fuck it. He can go by himself. It’s not like he needs Thomas’ permission.

Minho packs a bag with a few essential supplies, and goes to find Thomas to tell him he’s leaving to find Newt and Thomas is welcome to come with him if he wants or stay here if he doesn’t but he can’t stop Minho or talk him out of it.

He’s so focused on presenting a solid, resolute face to Thomas, an I’m-doing-this-whether-you-like-it-or-not face, that he almost doesn’t notice the look on Thomas’ face, which for some reason looks more afraid than angry. He would be curious about that look, but he spent too long preparing himself for objections so he just plows ahead, carried by the momentum of his own stubbornness. So what Thomas says comes as a complete surprise, because all the little signs that normally would have warned Minho that something was up go ignored, by his conscious mind at least.

“Newt is dead.”

.

.

.

“What?”

The word issues out of Minho’s mouth involuntarily.

Part of him knows exactly what Thomas said.

That part is making his heart race and his head feel light and causing a weird sort of rushing sound in his ears.

But another part, the larger part, is insisting that he must have misunderstood Thomas.

Because there’s no way Thomas just said what he thought Thomas just said.

So he stares at Thomas with eyes that won’t focus properly and waits for Thomas to provide an explanation that will erase the confusion and make the world make sense again.

“Newt is dead.” The words float from Thomas to Minho as if through a thick fog. “I killed him. When I went to find the leader of the Right Arm, I ran into him in the city, and… he asked me to do it. He _begged_ me, Minho, I couldn’t say no. He was… not well.”

.

Minho feels like he’s in a dream. Everything feels… shallow. Pale. Insubstantial.

“When were you gonna tell me?”

He doesn’t recognize his own voice. He sounds far too calm.

Thomas looks down. His face is heavy with shame.

“Oh,” Minho says. Almost laughs. “You _weren’t_ going to tell me. Were you?”

Thomas doesn’t look up.

.

.

Minho thinks about yelling at Thomas. Thinks about punching him. Causing a big scene; starting a fight that’s sure to get him into more trouble. He knows he would have done, before. Probably would have beat the shit out of Thomas or at the very least cursed him out and shouted himself hoarse.

But he just. Doesn’t feel like it. He’s too — empty. Not enough spark left in him to light a fire.

Thomas looks tense, like he’s waiting for Minho to do any or all of the things he was just thinking about doing. Minho watches him with dead eyes for a few seconds, then makes up his mind.

He turns around, and walks away.

He thinks Thomas might call out to him, or come after him, but he doesn’t. Maybe he’s still afraid of Minho’s temper. It doesn’t matter. Minho would have ignored him anyway.

.

.

.

.

He blinks, and he’s in the woods. Trees surround him on all sides. He doesn’t remember walking here. The bag is gone; he must have dropped it but he has no idea when.

He keeps walking. He needs to be farther away. He’s not sure how far away, but he knows he’ll know when it’s far enough.

He walks on. He feels no hunger, no thirst, no tiredness. The only sign that time is passing at all is that it keeps getting darker.

.

.

He steps down on a branch, and the dry crack snaps him out of his single-minded focus. It’s the dead of night; the only light shining down now is starlight and the light from the tiny sliver of a moon.

Finally, he’s far enough away. Far enough to let out the scream that’s been building inside him all day, rumbling up from deep in his chest and pushing to come out, but he’s shoved it down until now.

He doesn’t stifle it anymore. The scream erupts out of him, and it’s even louder than he thought it would be. He didn’t know he was capable of making a sound like this; it scares him. It hurts his throat, but he keeps screaming anyway. He screams for what feels like hours, until his voice is raw and hoarse. But he doesn’t cry. He thinks he should; he wants to, but he can’t. His eyes are completely dry.

He sleeps there on the ground. It’s horribly cold and uncomfortable, and he doesn’t actually get much sleep, but he doesn’t care.

He stays there in the forest for several days. He doesn’t keep track but it feels like at least a week. Then again, time hasn’t been moving at the same speed since he found out what happened, so maybe it actually wasn’t that long.

He doesn’t eat. He feels that he is hungry, but only in a detached, abstract way. When he remembers that he should drink something, he drinks the water that’s collected on leaves. Sometimes he screams again, when he feels the despair threatening to overwhelm him. He wears his voice out over and over, until it’s so scratchy and raspy he wonders if it will ever be the same again.

He half-hopes some wild animals will attack him; surely there must be bears in this forest? Or wolves? He would even take a porcupine. Or a bat with rabies. But he sees nothing besides a few birds and squirrels.

He thinks about staying out in the woods forever, wandering around until he finally dies. He thinks about killing himself in a more direct way.

He knows he won’t do it. He’s not sure if that’s bravery or cowardice.

Eventually he starts to head back. He doesn’t know what else to do.

He thinks maybe he’ll get lost — maybe he won’t be able to find his way back, and he’ll wander around in the wilderness and finally starve to death.

No such luck. Stupid Runner training making it nearly impossible for him to get lost.

It does take him nearly three times as long to get back as it did on the way out. He no longer has that obsessive focus driving him. But eventually he stumbles his way back to their pathetic excuse for a civilization.

Once he’s there he stops walking and just sort of looks around stupidly. He’s not sure where to go now. At least coming back was a kind of purpose. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do next.

“Hey, you’re back,” a voice says next to him.

Minho turns to look. It’s Gally.

“We were wondering where you’d disappeared to.”

Minho says nothing. He looks at Gally’s shirt, because he doesn’t want to look him in the eye. There’s a hole in it, right at the corner of Gally’s right shoulder. He looks at the hole, and his eyes go unfocused again. When everything gets blurry enough, the hole disappears. Then he blinks and it’s back; lets his eyes slide out of focus and it’s gone again.

“You look like shit, dude.” Gally takes a step closer and wrinkles his nose. “And you smell worse.”

_Blurry._ The hole disappears. _Blink._ It’s back.

“Are you okay?”

_Blurry._ Hole disappears. _Blink._ It’s back.

“Minho…” Gally touches his shoulder. Minho jerks away from his touch like he’s been scalded, but the spell is broken. He looks at Gally’s face.

“Thomas…” he starts, then lets out a dry cough. His voice is a thin rasp. He starts again. “Thomas told me…” He stops. He doesn’t know if he can bring himself to actually say it out loud.

Which is silly. It’s not like saying it out loud will make it more real. It’s already far too real.

“Newt is dead.”

Gally looks sad, but not surprised. Of course he’s not. Newt wasn’t immune; he knew this was a only a matter of time. “When?” Gally asks.

“I-in the city.” His voice is shaking. “T-Thomas found him i-in the city and… he killed him.”

Now Gally looks surprised. “What?” he says sharply. “_Thomas_ killed him?”

Minho nods.

For a moment Gally just stands there, looking shocked. It’s like they’re reenacting the scene when Thomas told Minho, only this time, Minho is the one delivering the news.

“Come with me,” Gally says, and he turns and walks. Minho follows, relieved to finally have something to do.

They walk down the mostly empty pathways, Minho following behind Gally like a baby duck following its mother, trusting blindly. They get to Gally’s small dwelling, which he thankfully has all to himself. Indoor plumbing in Paradise is still a work in progress, but Gally has a big tank of water with a little spigot attached, and he gives Minho a towel so he can clean the week’s worth of forest grime off himself.

Once he’s (relatively) clean, Gally sits him down and asks again.

“Thomas killed Newt?”

Minho looks at his lap. He nods again.

“Why?”

“He said…” Minho has to take a deep breath before continuing. “He said Newt asked him to.”

“Oh.” Gally doesn’t say what they’re both thinking, which is that this sounds just enough in character for Newt for them to not even question the truth of it. They’ve never talked about the Incident, but Minho is pretty sure Gally knew what had happened, or at least guessed some of it.

“He was… I mean, Newt was, uh… already fading pretty fast when we escaped from WICKED. While we were in the city, talking to you, he was found and taken to a Crank Palace. We tried to get him out, but… he refused to come with us.” Minho sniffs and wipes his nose. The memory of that last encounter with Newt hurts even more now. That really will be the last time he ever saw Newt. The last words he ever said to him. What were they? Does he even remember? He remembers how they felt — harsh, argumentative. Not at all representative of what their friendship had really been like. He hates thinking about it.

“So he was probably fully Cranked out when Thomas saw him again. Or at least close to it,” Gally concludes.

“He was lucid enough to ask Thomas to kill him.”

Gally seems to sag. Everything about him droops downward: his mouth, his eyes, his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Minho.”

Minho looks down at his lap again. He nods, a short little incline of the head to acknowledge Gally’s words, but not to accept them. What do you say when someone tells you they’re sorry your best friend is dead? “It’s okay”? It’s not.

They sit in silence for a while, and then Minho remembers about Ben. About Gally and Ben.

“How — ” He cuts himself off, unsure how to phrase his question. Unsure what it is he’s really asking in the first place. “How did you… keep going?” He clears his throat nervously. “After Ben?”

Gally lets out a heavy breath and looks somewhere off to Minho’s left. He’s quiet for so long that Minho thinks he isn’t going to answer, but then suddenly he speaks.

“You just… do. I don’t really know how I did it. You just keep going because… you have to. Because you don’t have any other choice. Because they wouldn’t want you to give up. And at first it hurts so much you think you’ll never survive it, but you do, and then after a while it hurts a little less, and a little less, until it’s bearable, and you don’t feel like it’s suffocating you all the time.”

“Does it ever go away completely?”

Gally shakes his head. There can be no lies between them, even lies intended to comfort, not now. “No. I don’t think it ever does. A part of me will always love Ben, just like a part of you will always love Newt. But you get to where you can live with it.”

Minho’s face twists in pain.

“What?” Gally asks.

“You said… that I loved Newt. The same way that you loved Ben.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but… I guess I didn’t think anyone knew.”

Gally looks incredulous. “You didn’t think… wait, but — you mean you two weren’t…?”

“No.” Minho shakes his head slowly. “I never even told him how I felt, and now…” The pain swells again, and he’s forced to retreat, receding back into the empty space he occupied in the forest. His eyes go slack and unfocused, aimed somewhere off to the side but not really seeing anything.

He’s yanked uncomfortably back to reality by Gally’s soft voice. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Minho shrugs, still not looking directly at him. “It wasn’t _your_ fault.” His voice lingers just a little too long on _your_, the stressed word implicitly saying that they both know who’s fault it _is_.

After several more minutes of silence, Minho speaks again. He’s not sure what makes him decide to say this out loud, instead of leaving it in his head where it belongs, but he does.

“I think maybe Newt and I knew each other, before. That we were friends, or at least friendly with each other, maybe before the Maze or maybe before any of this. I don’t have any evidence, but I just feel it — Newt already felt so _right_ to me, as soon as we met in the Glade, I knew we were going to be friends.”

Gally gives him a funny look.

“What?” Minho asks, feeling defensive. “Am I getting too sappy for you? Too much like a grand, cosmic plan?”

“No, not that.” Gally shakes his head. “I just keep forgetting that you never got your memories back, that’s all.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Why didn’t you? Get your memories back, I mean.”

“You know… I don’t even remember really?” For some reason Minho half feels like laughing, even though nothing is funny. “It was like some stupid principled stand against WICKED manipulating us or something. It seems sort of ridiculous now.”

“Well, maybe not.” Gally looks thoughtful. “I mean, there’s a lot of stuff I wish I _hadn’t_ remembered. A lot of really bad stuff. Maybe if I’d had the option… I don’t know.”

Minho says nothing. Right now he thinks he would relive all his worst memories a hundred times over if it meant he could also have back all the good ones with Newt. Of course, if he remembered all his worst memories from before the Maze, maybe he wouldn’t take that bargain. But now he’ll never know for sure.

Minho thinks about how fucked up it is that Gally knows more about his own past than he does. More about Newt’s past, too. “Gally,” he says tentatively. “Do you remember anything about me and Newt from before the Maze?”

Gally gives him a look full of pity, a look that normally he would despise, but right now he can’t be bothered to care. “We were all — all of us group A kids, and the group B kids too — we were all raised in a WICKED facility. From when we were like, eight or nine years old at least. And you and Newt — you were best friends.” He looks up over Minho’s head, and a dim smile crosses his face like he’s remembering something pleasant. “Fuck, you guys went _everywhere_ together. You were practically joined at the hip.”

Minho’s heart aches at the thought of all those lost, happy memories with Newt, and that’s when it happens.

All this time, since he found out Newt died, since he got to Paradise even, he hasn’t shed a single tear. All those unshed tears come out now, as if they were simply waiting for this very moment to appear. Gally revealing that Minho’s instinct had been right, that he and Newt _were_ friends, best friends even, before they met in the Glade, opens a floodgate. His shoulders shake with sobs he can’t hold back.

“I miss him so much,” Minho says in a voice so ragged it’s nearly overwhelmed by the tears and sobs continuing to rage. “I miss him all the time, every minute of every day.”

“I know,” Gally says while patting his back, and he sounds close to tears himself. “I know.” Minho thinks that more than anyone, Gally really does know. He understands.

Gally pulls him into a hug and lets him cry until he’s out of tears, until the sobs dissolve into hiccuping sniffles. Minho isn’t sure if catharsis is all it’s cracked up to be, but at least he doesn’t feel that horrible emptiness anymore.

“Gally…” He wants to ask something, but he’s not sure if he really wants to know the answer or not. He’s also not sure what he wants the answer to be. “Did you really think that me and Newt were…”

Gally nods emphatically. “Not just me. Literally everyone,” he confirms. “We had bets going on when you were finally gonna acknowledge it publicly.”

“Oh my god.” Minho is half laughing, half crying, and he doesn’t know what’s going on in his head but the one thing he does know for sure is that Newt would have gotten a kick out of that. “If only we’d known, we could have messed with you all so much.”

Gally laughs too. “As long as you rigged it so I won the bet.”

* * *

More weeks pass. Minho thinks Gally is right, and it will become easier to live with the pain in time; he just wishes it would ease up a little faster. Most days are still difficult, and sometimes grief will ambush him and his chest will go tight and he’ll feel like he can’t breathe and everything will hurt so much he just wants to give up. But he doesn’t give up, he keeps going. Because Newt wouldn’t want him to give up.

He still can’t bring himself to talk to Thomas. In fact, he can barely stand to be in the same room as Thomas, and usually he doesn’t. As soon as he sees Thomas, he gets up and leaves. Sometimes mid-sentence. He can tell by the hurt but resigned look on Thomas’ face that this is making him miserable, but he won’t try to confront Minho about it because he feels like he deserves it. And maybe he does, but Minho knows they can’t go on like this. This thing is destroying Thomas. What he did is eating him up inside, and thinking that Minho hates him for it is only making it worse. He knows this isn’t what Newt would have wanted, for his two best friends to end up not even able to be in the same room together. Minho also knows that Thomas will never approach him first. He won’t think he has the right to. Which means Minho will have to be the one to bridge the gap between them.

Maybe it isn’t particularly fair that the responsibility of comforting the person who killed the love of his life falls to him. But when has anything about their lives ever been fair? Besides, Thomas is one of the last few friends he has left. Minho doesn’t just want to forgive Thomas for Newt’s sake, he also wants to forgive Thomas for his own sake.

More than anything, he’s tired of feeling angry and sad all the time. Something has to change. And if he can forgive Thomas, maybe that means one day Minho will be able to forgive himself.

So finally, after weeks and weeks of radio silence, Minho goes up to where Thomas is sitting alone after dinner. He sits down next to him, looking at the table instead of at Thomas, examining the grain and knots in the wood like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Thomas doesn’t say anything, but Minho can sense how tense Thomas became as soon as he sat down. He thinks Thomas might even be holding his breath. Minho thinks for a minute, unhurried by the uncomfortable silence stretching between them.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Newt figured out how to get rid of the aphids that were ruining Zart’s cabbages?”

There’s a pause, then a hesitant answer from Thomas: “No?”

“Yeah, back in the Glade, this was like, a little over a year in, and the gardens were infested with these aphids that were absolutely destroying all the cabbages, and I think some other plants too but the main one I remember is the cabbages. I don’t know. Anyway, the idiots were picking them off and killing them one at a time until Newt got there, and he whipped up a homemade insecticide from some random stuff Fry had laying around in the kitchen. He just figured it out, all on his own. Man, he was so fucking smart.” Minho presses the heels of his hands against his cheekbones like he can force the tears in his eyes to stay put through brute force.

Thomas huffs out an unconvincing laugh, but when he speaks, his voice at least is sincere. “Yeah, he was.”

“And then there was the time he figured out we needed to be liming the alfalfa fields.”

“Liming?”

“Yeah, it’s like where you put lime powder in the soil to keep it from getting too acidic. I don’t know, it’s plant stuff, that was always Newt’s thing. But you remember those fields we grazed the livestock in, right? Well, they were having problems getting stuff to grow there after a while, because the soil was getting too acidic, only we didn’t know that was why it wasn’t growing. Newt was the one who figured it out, and how to fix it by putting lime dust in the soil.”

“I never had the chance to hear much about your lives in the Glade before I showed up,” Thomas says.

_Didn’t care enough to find out, you mean._ Minho banishes the uncharitable thought as soon as it appears. It feels foreign, like it came from somewhere outside his own mind.

“He used to have this little pet lamb that he was hand-raising for a while.”

“I never saw it, what happened to it?”

“Oh, he gave it to Carl - Carl was another one of the slicers, one of Winston’s crew who took care of the animals, I don’t know it you remember him, he was one of the… he didn’t make it out of the Maze. Anyway, they were both raising lambs at the same time, but Carl’s died, that’s what usually happens when they’re abandoned by their mothers, but Winston was hoping they might survive if they were hand-raised, plus he wanted to give Newt something else to take care of so he wouldn’t… so he’d have something to do I guess. When Carl’s died he was really upset, so Newt let Carl take care of Steve - Steve was what he named the lamb, he named it after another one of the boys who had died earlier. He loved that stupid little lamb, but he let Carl have him because he was that fucking selfless, he couldn’t stand seeing Carl sad when he could do something about it, even though Carl wasn’t even that nice to him. He never told me that’s why he gave Steve to Carl, but I knew. That’s just what Newt was like, he had this way of looking out for everyone, without even realizing he was doing it.”

Minho knows he’s rambling, and probably not making much sense, but it’s so nice to be able to talk like this - not strategizing or planning how to survive whatever disaster will happen next, but talking just to talk, to share some of their precious few happy memories, to spend time together and remember their friend. Thomas is listening with rapt attention, so even if he isn’t making any sense, Thomas doesn’t seem to care.

“Yeah, I remember,” Thomas says with a laugh. This one sounds more genuine. “Did you know, one time when I fell asleep outside he put a blanket on me? At least, I’m pretty sure it was him.”

“Oh yeah, I do remember that.” Minho smiles fondly at the memory. “That was definitely him. He was always doing stuff like that.”

He hears what sounds like a choking noise from Thomas, and finally turns to look at him. Thomas is crying, wracked with sobs, much like Minho at Gally’s not that long ago. And in that moment Minho feels as though he isn’t comforting Thomas, but himself. A past version of himself.

He puts an arm around Thomas’ shoulders and squeezes gently, rubbing comforting circles into Thomas’ arm. “It wasn’t your fault. I know you probably think it was, and maybe I thought that at first, but I don’t think that anymore.”

Thomas shakes his head. “It’s not that.” He’s crying so hard he can barely get the words out. “I think… I think I was in love with him. But I didn’t realize until… until it was too late.”

Minho stops. “But… what about Teresa? And Brenda?”

“What? No, I never… well, not for long, anyway. But I never felt like I could really, truly trust them. Even Brenda lied about who she was really working for.”

Minho is genuinely surprised, and he’s almost happy about it. So it turns out he was wrong, and Thomas hadn’t been as easily fooled as he had thought. He doesn’t say it out loud, because he has no interest in jeopardizing the tentative peace they’ve so recently established, but privately he wonders if Brenda knows that this is how Thomas really feels. Somehow he doubts it.

“It was Newt, it was always Newt,” Thomas continues. “He and you were the only people I felt like I could really trust, you know. I just wish… I wish we’d had more time.” Thomas, briefly distracted, had calmed down some, but now that he’s returned to talking about Newt, a fresh wave of tears comes. He sounds so broken and miserable.

A sharp pang goes through Minho’s chest. And even though part of him feels like he’s dying, he knows what he needs to do.

“You know, I think he was in love with you too,” Minho says. “No, I _know_ he was. I was his best friend, I could tell. He cared about you a lot, and I know he felt the same way.”

Thomas doesn’t answer; he only cries harder.

“And…” Minho continues. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. He made his own choice. It was what he wanted.” His throat is tightening, and his eyes water, but still no tears fall. “You were just respecting his choice by doing what he asked. That doesn’t mean you were to blame for what happened.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Thomas says through choked sobs.

“It is true,” Minho insists. “Listen to me, if he were here right now he’d be telling you the exact same thing. He was going to die either way, the only difference you made was to make sure he died on his own terms. It was what he wanted.”

Thomas sniffs. He seems so much smaller and more fragile than Minho’s ever seen him before.

“Thanks, Minho,” he says. “And I’m really sorry - I know this hasn’t been easy for you either, and I’m sorry I lied to you.”

Minho shrugs. “Water under the bridge.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Thomas says, and he buries his face in Minho’s shoulder.

Minho puts his arm around Thomas again. “Oh, you would have died like, at least five times without me.”

Thomas barks out a surprised laugh, and hugs Minho even tighter.

Minho hugs him back, and he knows he and Thomas will be okay eventually. In time, they will heal. He doesn’t even consider telling Thomas about his own feelings for Newt. It doesn’t feel relevant to this situation; that was between him and Newt, and has nothing to do with Thomas. And some secrets are better left unsaid.


End file.
